


The Fine Art of Gift-Giving

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [17]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Gen, Ice Powers, Minor Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Minor Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra), Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Weddings, wedding presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Frosta knows how to be calm in the face of adversity.She knows how to carefully tuck her emotions away, how to let them simmer, how to hold onto them until she can unleash them through her fingertips, transform them into towering stalagmites and icicles. Having a good game face, an ability to put decorum and reputation over her actual wishes and desires, has been necessary for maintaining her hold on her throne; if she had dared to act as other children her age did, if she had dared to let herself scream and rage when she was upset, she knew that it would only be a matter of time before someone tried to steal the throne right out from underneath her, powers or not.But right now, she’s having averyhard time staying calm, because tomorrow, Glimmer and Bow are getting married, and Frosta still doesn’t know what to give them as a wedding present.
Relationships: Frosta & Glimmer (She-Ra)
Series: Ladies Bingo 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956031
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2020





	The Fine Art of Gift-Giving

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'Hero' square on my [Ladies Bingo 2020](https://ladiesbingo.dreamwidth.org/) bingo card! As always, huge thanks to my partner for editing.

Frosta knows how to be calm in the face of adversity. 

She knows how to carefully tuck her emotions away, how to let them simmer, how to hold onto them until she can unleash them through her fingertips, transform them into towering stalagmites and icicles. Having a good game face, an ability to put decorum and reputation over her actual wishes and desires, has been necessary for maintaining her hold on her throne; if she had dared to act as other children her age did, if she had dared to let herself scream and rage when she was upset, she knew that it would only be a matter of time before someone tried to steal the throne right out from underneath her, powers or not.

But right now, she’s having a _very_ hard time staying calm, because tomorrow, Glimmer and Bow are getting married, and Frosta still doesn’t know what to give them as a wedding present. 

She’s been racking her brain about it for weeks, ever since the day the two of them formally announced their engagement to the rest of the kingdom. Of course, such an announcement was only a surprise to some of the citizens of Etheria – the princesses had known (or at least suspected) that Glimmer and Bow were going to make things official for ages. Mermista and Sea Hawk had even been betting on when such an announcement would actually be made (to the surprise of absolutely no one, Mermista won the bet). But Frosta hadn’t wanted to start planning a gift prematurely – after all, there was always the chance that the two of them would decide to have a small, private ceremony. Maybe they would even break up, and although that possibility was highly doubtful, she still didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about a present if it was all for naught. 

So she had been patient, and once the two of them set the first day of spring as their wedding day, she had started planning. At first, she had only done it whenever she had time, usually right before bed – after all, it couldn’t be that difficult to think of an appropriate gift, right? 

Except the weeks had ticked by, and the weather had grown warmer, bringing with it sun filled days and the smell of flower blossoms on the wind and still, no inspiration came to her, and now, they are less than twenty-four hours away from the wedding, and she _still_ doesn’t know what to do. 

Sitting in her guest room, she stares down at the notebook in her lap. The page is blank; the pages before it had contained some ideas, but almost as soon as she jotted them down, she had found _something_ wrong with them and she had torn the pages out. Her head is hurting from staring so intently at the blank page, but she refuses to rip her eyes away. Blinking only as often as necessary, she continues to stare at the page, willing her imagination to come up with something that is not only amazing but also doable in the limited time frame that she has. 

She stares and stares, and her headache worsens, and by the time it gets to the point where having her eyes open actually _hurts_ , she lets out a yell of frustration and throws the notebook across the room. Crossing her arms over her chest, she drops back against the squishy mattress, huffs an aggravated breath, and closes her eyes against the daylight pouring through the windows dotting the walls of the room. 

She knows that, if she reached out for help, someone would give her assistance. She can already see the smile that would light up Scorpia’s face if she asked, can already hear her delighted voice going a mile a minute as she races through possibilities. If she were to ask Mermista, she would probably act like it was a big deal, punctuating whatever she said with a roll of her eyes, but she would still help. 

But Frosta doesn’t _want_ to ask for help. The others already have their wedding presents ready to go; they’ve excitedly whispered about them around the fire at night, when Glimmer and Bow were out of the room. They all clearly know what they’re doing, and while they have all gotten better at seeing beyond her age, at respecting her as a full-fledged princess, asking for help, admitting that she doesn’t have a clue what to do, could easily jeopardize that. 

She remains in bed until her headache begins to fade. Once she can open her eyes again without being miserable, she slides out of bed and changes out of her pajamas into the clothes she wore earlier in the day, when she’d joined the rest of the princesses for breakfast in the dining hall. Once she’s dressed, she heads out of the room. 

She’s not sure if going for a walk will give her any inspiration, but it’s clear that hiding in her room and glaring at her notebook isn’t going to do it. If her walk doesn’t give her anything, she’ll swallow her pride and ask one of the other princesses for help. 

The castle is abuzz with activity. Every room that she passes by, every hallway that she turns down, there is _something_ going on. There are guests being shown to their rooms, caterers dragging carts full of supplies to the kitchens, hired staff making sure that the place gleams. Normally, it’s easy enough to find a place of peace somewhere on the grounds, but everywhere that she looks, there are more people, and her headache sparks back to life. She tries to keep herself composed, tries to be cordial to the people she passes who bow or wave at her, but before she knows it, her fingers are curled into tight fists, and there is cold sweat forming at her hairline. 

This was a bad idea. 

She could stomp back to her room, but that would mean that she’d have to run the gauntlet again, and she’s not sure if she can do that without her head exploding into shards of ice. So instead, at the next intersection, she turns towards the portrait gallery. From there, she’ll be able to cut through the gardens and double back to her room, and although she’s still going to run into people on the way, at the very least, the portrait gallery is a wide enough space that she might be able to dart through it quickly, and being out in the open air might help clear her head. 

When she steps through the massive doors that lead into the gallery, she stops in her tracks. Surprisingly, the room is nearly empty – there are only two people inside, side by side, with their backs to Frosta. Micah has his arm thrown around Glimmer’s shoulders, and she’s leaning against his side, head tilted over to rest on his shoulder. The two of them are standing in front of a portrait of Angella, one that reaches almost to the ceiling of the room, showing off the late queen in all of her glory. In the painting, she’s smiling gently at the observer, and both of her hands are glowing faintly, swathed in pink and lavender light. Frosta quickly realizes that she is intruding on a private moment, and she turns to head out of the room. However, before she can get out of earshot, she hears a faint sniffle. Instinctively, she looks back over her shoulder in time to see Glimmer wiping at her eyes. 

“I wish she could be here,” she says quietly. 

“Me too,” Micah replies, clearing his throat, his voice roughened. “Me too, Glimmer.” 

And like that, the inspiration that Frosta has been so desperately looking for appears in the blink of an eye. 

She tiptoes away from the gallery so that she isn’t detected, but once she’s far enough away, she breaks out into a run, hightailing it back to her room. She barely notices that the hallways are as cluttered as ever; she instinctively bobs and weaves through the crowds, automatically lifts her hand in a wave when she hears her name called out. At one point, one of the voices calling her name rings a bell of familiarity, but by the time she realizes that the voice belongs to Perfuma, it's too late to turn back. 

She skids at the door to her room, ducks in to grab her notebook, and immediately flies back out, clutching her notebook and pencil tight to her chest. She repeats her journey across the castle, once again stopping for no one. As she nears the portrait gallery, she forces herself to come to a stop. Ducking into an alcove to catch her breath, she peers her head around the corner so that she can look into the room. She hasn’t been gone for long, after all; it’s possible that Micah and Glimmer are still inside, and she’ll have to bide her time until they’re gone, lest she ruin the surprise. 

But the two of them have moved on, probably to go deal with wedding planning, and while Frosta can’t help but wish that they could have had more time with their grief, their absence means that she can duck into the gallery without having to be sneaky. There are a few others wandering the room, gazing at the other portraits and talking in low voices, but there is no one standing in front of Angella’s, so Frosta unceremoniously plunks herself on the floor, opens her notebook up to a non-mangled page, and stares up at the towering portrait of Bright Moon’s former queen. 

She was a beautiful woman. It feels almost foolish to think the thought – of course Angella was beautiful, she was a literal celestial being – but it doesn’t make it any less true. But, beyond her beauty, beyond the flowing pink and violet locks of her hair and the fine bone structure of her face, she looks _kind_. Her soft, wistful smile makes Frosta miss her own mother, who has been gone for so long that Frosta barely remembers what she looked like. 

But that’s a line of thought that she can’t afford to get lost in. For now, she has to focus on giving Glimmer the wedding present that she deserves. 

So, taking her pencil in hand, glancing back and forth between her notebook and the portrait, she starts to sketch, doing it rapidly, as the longer she remains in the gallery, the higher the chance that one of the other princesses will find her and see what she’s drawing, and the more people who know about her gift, the higher risk there is that it will be revealed before the appropriate time. 

She’s spent too much time searching for inspiration to take that risk. 

She quickly fills the page with an outline, and once it’s done, she tucks her pen into the binding of her notebook and stares at the rough sketch that she has created. She expects at any moment that her brain will revolt against the drawing, that she will find an imperfection to focus on, something that will make her rip out the page and start over. 

But that urge never comes. Instead, the longer she stares at the sketch, the more she’s sure that this is the right thing to do, that this is a gift she can feel good about giving to Glimmer. 

Closing her notebook with a snap, she heads back to her room, walking slowly this time. Once there, she changes back into her pajamas, draws the curtains over the windows (although, considering they’re made of gauzy, transparent fabric, they don’t do much to block out the sunlight) and burrows herself under a blanket. 

If she’s going to make this work, she’s going to have to conduct most of the work at night, after most of the castle’s occupants have gone to sleep, and if she has any chance of doing her sketch justice, she’s going to need as much sleep as she can. 

So, turning over so that her back is facing the windows, she eventually falls asleep, and there she stays until early evening, when a knock on her door, heavy and loud enough that it has to be Scorpia, pulls her from her doze. 

Dinner is a tremendously festive affair; the dining hall is packed with people, every seat at every table filled. The meal goes on for hours, dotted with speeches that grow more and more rowdy as the hour grows later, while a truly mindboggling amount of food streams through the doors, a never-ending supply of cakes and salads and soups and other dishes Frosta has never seen before. On any other night, she would be trying to sample a little bit of everything; however, as is, while she’s doing her best to hide it, her stomach is churning so badly that she can barely finish a single plate before she feels too sick to eat. As the dinner continues on late into the night, well past the time where she would normally go to bed, her anxiety only grows. 

She tries to pretend that everything is okay, using her years on the throne as practice. She applauds during the speeches at the appropriate intervals, laughs when everyone else does, picks at the desserts on her plate so that, to any casual observer, it would look like she’s eating. But despite her best efforts, Scorpia leans in during a break between speeches and earnestly asks, “Are you okay, Frosta? You’re looking a little bit squirmy there.” 

“Just tired,” she replies, forcing herself to yawn widely. “I’m not used to being up this late.” 

“Honestly? Me neither,” Scorpia says, carefully pinching a thick piece of bread with her claws and bringing it to her mouth. “Perfuma and I are usually out way before this. But,” she says, waving her piece of bread toward the head of the table, where Glimmer and Bow are sitting, “I figure, if any occasion calls for staying up late, it’s this one. How often do you get to see two of your best friends this happy?” 

She’s right. Bow and Glimmer are leaning against each other, foreheads resting together, their plates forgotten. It’s like the two of them are in their own little bubble, like the rest of the world doesn’t even exist. 

Anxious or not, the sight makes Frosta smile. That being said, she _really_ hopes that she can slip out soon, because she has no idea how long it’s going to take her to bring her creation to life, and she would like to get _some_ sleep before the ceremony tomorrow. 

If she falls asleep during the wedding, she’ll never forgive herself. 

Thankfully, after two more speeches, one from Micah and one from Castaspella, the dinner begins to break up. Frosta remains patient for as long as she can – it’s best that she wait a few minutes, in order to ensure that as many people as possible will be back in their rooms – but there’s only so much she can take. As soon as Perfuma and Scorpia excuse themselves, she follows suit, throwing out _goodnight_ and _see you tomorrow_ as she ducks out. The corridor outside is several degrees colder, and she welcomes the temperature difference as she begins to slip through the warrens of hallways that form Bright Moon. 

Eventually, she makes it to the gardens without incident. There are a few people lingering near the entrance, but as she ventures further in, towards where the gardens terminate at the edge of the cliff that Bright Moon rests upon, she has the paths to herself, which is perfect. The quieter the surrounding environment is, the better the chances are that she won’t have to redo her work several times. 

There is a bare circle of dirt at the very back of the gardens where something must have grown at one point, surrounded by benches. The area is sheltered by a small gazebo, which cuts off some of the moon’s light. It might make things a little more challenging than she hoped, but more importantly, it will also cut off the sun when it rises. 

It’s the perfect spot. 

After pulling her notebook from the inside pocket of her jacket, she drapes it over the nearest bench and turns to the proper page. She stares at her drawing for a good long time before she sets it aside and turns to the bare patch of ground. Spreading her feet for stability, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, extends her hands in front of her, and begins to move her fingers, as deftly as a weaver might work a loom. Strengthened by the nearby water, which she pulls to her as sparingly as she can manage, ice begins to flow from her fingertips, and she directs it towards the dirt. To start, she creates a simple pedestal, one that completely covers up the bare patch and is several feet high. Once she’s checked it to make sure it’s flawless, that there are no bumps or grooves that might put the rest of her work off balance, she takes another deep breath and starts on the next phase of the project. 

This is the phase that takes several hours. 

She sculpts and carves, weaves and stitches. She starts over twice, completely wipes out her work (aside from the pedestal) when it doesn’t live up to her standards. On the third attempt, however, she strikes gold. As she watches the sculpture take shape in front of her, as the fine details begin to unravel in front of her eyes, she knows that the third time is the charm. 

By the time she finishes, she’s drenched in sweat, and each of her limbs is leaden with exhaustion. But she’s not going to fall asleep here. While the hard part is done, she has some quality control to do so, ignoring her exhaustion, she steps up to the pedestal and peers at the sculpture towering over her. She makes a few small changes here and there – carves away a sliver of ice to better form the curvature of an arm, adds a deeper groove to make the eyes look more realistic – but there’s surprisingly little left to do before she ends up with something she’s pleased with. 

After giving the statue one final appraising look, she reaches deep down into the seat of her power, and extends her hands out, strengthening the bonds between molecules, making the ice as strong and hard as possible. With that complete, she knows that the sculpture will stay unharmed for at least the next few days, so she won’t have to worry about rushing Glimmer to see it before it melts. 

She won’t _have_ to worry, but she’s probably going to worry all the same. 

Forcing herself to turn her back on the sculpture, she trudges back to her room, burying yawns into her elbow the whole way. Compared to the hustle and bustle that permeated the halls earlier in the day, the castle seems downright abandoned now. Her footsteps echo in the hallways, and the only people that she runs into are guards who scrutinize her briefly before nodding and returning to stand at attention. By the time she actually makes it to her room, just taking a further step into her room is an exhausting endeavor. Making it all the way to her bed feels downright impossible, but somehow, she manages to make it. She doesn’t bother to change; she collapses into bed, barely managing to get the blanket pulled up before she passes out. 

She sleeps well, but despite how quickly she drifts off, it’s still not enough. When she’s awoken by a heavy knock on the door, her first thought is to ignore it and pass back out. Unfortunately, even in her sleep addled state, she knows that isn’t an option, so she forces herself to roll onto her back, limbs sprawled akimbo across the width of the mattress. 

“Who is it?” she hollers, tossing an arm over her eyes to block out the sun. 

“It’s me! Scorpia, I mean.” Her door creaks open, and when Frosta glances over, Scorpia is poking her head in. “Oh! You’re still in bed. Staying up past your bedtime really did you in, eh?” 

“Sure did,” Frosta says, yawning expansively as she forces herself to sit up. “Am I gonna be late?” 

“Not if you hurry.” Scorpia steps into the room and closes the door behind her. She’s all dressed up, wearing a burgundy strapless dress that stops just shy of where her black heels are raising her already considerable height by another three inches. Her hair is slicked back and held in place by a crown of red and yellow flowers. Her claws have been shined, and they catch the sunlight coming through the windows. “Anything I can do to help?” 

Glancing around the room, Frosta realizes that the actual answer to Scorpia’s question is no. All she needs to do is get dressed and brush her hair. That being said, her stomach is rumbling quite ferociously, so she answers with, “Do you think you could sneak some breakfast out of the kitchen for me?” 

In response, Scorpia reaches into the black bag hanging at her side and, nimbly using the tips of her claws, fishes out a protein bar and flicks it over to Frosta, who snatches it out of midair. 

“I can grab more, if you’d like,” Scorpia says. Frosta shakes her head – she’s already torn the wrapper off and crammed a third of the bar into her mouth.

“This is fine,” is what she means to say, but it comes out extremely garbled. Thankfully, Scorpia seems to understand, and she smiles. 

“Alrighty, glad I could help! I’m just going to check on Perfuma, but I’ll meet you back here! We can sit together.” 

Chances are that they’d all end up sitting together anyways, even if she didn’t walk over with the two of them – she knows that the princesses have been reserved spots of honor in the front row of the great hall, where the ceremony is taking place – but she’s not going to say no to the company. 

Protein bar having sated enough of her hunger that she’ll be tided over until lunch, she strips out of her clothes from the night before, cleans herself up in the small ensuite bathroom, brushes her hair until it’s straight and gleaming, and changes into her outfit, a navy blue suit with snowflakes embroidered on the lapels and the pockets. She’s just finished buttoning her jacket when Scorpia returns, this time with Perfuma in tow. Perfuma, per usual, looks like a vision, clad in a long, gauzy pink gown woven from material as fine as spider thread. She’s wearing a flower crown as well, one that complements Scorpia’s, and there are blossoms and vines inked magically on her bare arms and long neck, shifting whenever she moves. When she sees Frosta, she lets out a delighted laugh. 

“You look fantastic!” she says gleefully, linking her arm through Scorpia’s. “We all look so wonderful! What a beautiful day this is.” 

“And you haven’t even seen Glimmer or Bow yet,” Frosta points out, taking one last quick glance in the mirror before they exit the room. Perfuma sighs dreamily. 

“I know. I’m going to cry. I just know it.” 

“Me too,” Scorpia says, voice slightly wavering in a way that seems to indicate she might already be well on the way to crying. 

Frosta isn’t sure that she’ll be joining them – crying isn’t something that comes easy to her, even when she’s alone, let alone in front of hundreds of people – but she has to agree with Perfuma. 

It _is_ a beautiful day.

&.

She doesn’t cry, but she comes close.

She spends most of the ceremony with a lump in her throat, trying to keep herself composed as she watches Glimmer walk down the aisle with Micah at her side. She’s wearing a shimmering dress of lavender and rose, her circlet polished and gleaming on top of her head, a bouquet (Perfuma’s work) clutched to her chest as she takes measured step after measured step towards the altar, where Bow is waiting, dressed in a dark purple suit that has been carefully cut to show off his abs. As Glimmer comes closer, his hands fly up to his mouth and remain there until Glimmer is standing in front of him. At that point, even from her position several feet away, Frosta can see that his eyes are wet with tears, a look that is fully reciprocated by Glimmer. 

It’s a beautiful ceremony from beginning to end, and when Glimmer and Bow finally kiss, she’s one of the first people to leap to their feet and clap until her hands hurt. Next to her, Scorpia lets out a wolf whistle, and when Glimmer breaks away from Bow to look at them, she’s grinning from ear to ear, lipstick smudged slightly. 

She looks like the very definition of happiness, and Frosta’s heart swells as the sight. 

It’s what Glimmer deserves. 

The downside to the ceremony coming to a close is that as soon as Glimmer and Bow file out of the room, Frosta doesn’t have anything to distract her from the fact that she hasn’t been able to check on her sculpture all morning. 

So, when Scorpia is busy ‘straightening’ Perfuma’s flower crown (which is already perfectly straight), Frosta makes her escape. 

The great hall is still full of people, and she puts all of her fighting skills into action to make her way to the entrance, dodging around people who abruptly stop in front of her, weaving through clumps of guests that are blocking the way. While the hallway beyond is far from empty, it isn’t quite so crowded, and once she’s out there, she’s able to make good time as she heads towards the gardens. 

The sun is bright overhead when she exists the castle, but there’s a slight chill in the air, which makes her feel relieved. There are a few people lingering outside the entrance to the gardens, but not many – she suspects that most people probably don’t want to venture too far, so that they can secure prime seats at the luncheon that is supposed to take place in half an hour. Slowing her pace so that she’s less likely to be noticed, she slips through the gardens until she reaches the gazebo where she spent so many hours last night. 

Thankfully, the sculpture is still frozen solid, without any tiny droplets of meltwater clinging to its curves and planes. She places one hand against the pedestal and reaches out with her mind so that she can confirm what she’s seeing, and is pleased to discover that her suspicions are correct. She gives the sculpture a grateful pat with her palm before she turns around, wiping her hand on her jacket. 

Glimmer is standing in front of her, eyes shimmering with bright tears that are threatening to spill down her cheeks. Her hands are covering her mouth, like she’s trying to push back a sound.

Frosta’s stomach plummets. 

“Hey, Glimmer,” she says, swallowing heavily. “What are you doing out here? I thought you’d be getting ready for the luncheon.” 

Glimmer clears her throat and lowers her hands before she answers. Even then, her voice is a little raspy. “Scorpia said that she saw you run away, and when I asked one of the guards, they said that they saw you coming back from the gardens early this morning. I thought I’d check to make sure that you were okay. But…” With a sound almost like a hiccup, Glimmer waves one hand at the sculpture behind Frosta. “Is that…” 

Frosta nods and turns so that she can also look at the sculpture. In the light of day, she can see a few spots where she could have made some revisions, but overall, she still thinks that it bears a strong resemblance to the massive portrait in the gallery that she based it off. 

“Yeah,” she replies. “It’s your mother.” 

The sculpture is a full-length depiction of Angella, showing off her impressive height. Her hands are out in front of her, as if she’s in mid-spell, and Frosta had added thin sprays of ice coming away from Angella’s detailed fingers to further the illusion. Angella’s long wings are fully extended, reaching from one side of the gazebo to the other. One of her legs is posed in front of the other, as if she’s stepping towards the viewer. There’s a smile on her face, and her head is tilted down, chin towards her chest, which has the effect of directing her smile right at Glimmer. As Frosta looks back to Glimmer, it’s in time to see Glimmer’s tears streaking down her cheeks and dripping into the neckline of her gown. 

She waits what feels like an appropriate amount of time for Glimmer to say something, but when she remains silent, she speaks up. “I overheard you and your dad yesterday in the portrait gallery. I didn’t mean to, I was just trying to find a quiet place where I could figure out what to give you and Bow for a present. But it… it sounded like you really missed her. And she’s a hero. She deserves to be memorialized. I know this isn’t the same as bringing her back, or having her here, but…” She trails off, worrying that she may have stepped over a line, that having a life size sculpture of Angella is just a cruel reminder of what Glimmer has lost. 

What if she’s made a huge mistake? 

Everything in Frosta is telling her to make an excuse and flee, but she barely makes it through one step before Glimmer rushes forward and pulls her into a tight hug. It’s almost too tight – it’s a struggle to take a breath – but it feels like a wave of relief flooding over her. She wraps her arms around Glimmer’s soft middle and returns the hug in kind, as Glimmer’s tears drip onto her head. 

“Thank you, Frosta,” she says quietly, hiccupping. She straightens up, but rather than letting go of Frosta, she places her hands on Frosta’s shoulders. “You’re right. I miss her. I miss her so much. I would do anything for her to be here. But this… this is wonderful.” She wipes away the dampness underneath her eyes, smearing her mascara. “It looks exactly like her.” 

“It’s based off her portrait,” Frosta says, giving Glimmer another tight squeeze before she steps back and turns to look at the sculpture again. “If you’d like, I can make it so that it’ll never melt, unless you blast it directly with fire. I thought about doing it last night, but I didn’t want to take the risk, in case you didn’t like it.” 

“Please,” Glimmer replies. “I’d like to be able to visit her.”

“Deal. I’ll come back after lunch.” 

“Oh right, lunch. Almost forgot.” Glimmer laughs quietly, but she doesn’t move to leave the gazebo. Instead, she steps forward and reaches up until her fingertips are resting against Angella’s. She lingers there for a moment before she brings her fingertips to her lips, kisses them, and then cranes up on her tiptoes so that she can transfer the kiss to the flat plane of her mother’s cheek. “Miss you,” she murmurs, and Frosta suddenly feels like she’s intruding again, like this is a moment she wasn’t meant to be privy to. 

Before she can ask Glimmer if she should leave, Glimmer turns back around and smiles at her. “Let’s go grab some lunch. I was too nervous this morning to eat, and I’m _starving_.” 

Frosta laughs. “I slept in too long. Nearly missed the ceremony. If Scorpia hadn’t given me a protein bar, I would have passed out by now.” 

“I wouldn’t have let you miss the ceremony,” Glimmer says. As she walks out of the gazebo, Frosta falls into step beside her. “If I’d seen that your chair was empty, I would have stopped everything and sent someone to find you.” 

Frosta snorts and roll her eyes. 

In companionable silence, they walk through the gardens. As they reach the entrance to the castle, Glimmer clears her throat and says, “Thank you, Frosta. For the sculpture. Thank you for bringing her back to me. I know Dad and Bow are going to love it too.” 

For the first time that day, a tear freezes a trail down Frosta's cheek. 

“You’re very welcome, Glimmer.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
